


Hidden Treasure

by heidiamalia



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, admissions of lurrvee, and she's got her own thing, because karen doesn't fuck around, its a mission type of road trip ffic, lots of hand holding, mentions of the elusive uncle teddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 16:24:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17707661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heidiamalia/pseuds/heidiamalia
Summary: On the jar is a taped note, folded in half.Visit me."Do you want to go?" It's quiet on his end of the line, and it's his tone - not the cold outside her window - that chills her spine.“Can I ask you something?” She doesn't wait for him to respond, and she's opening the car door now, ice brushing into the nerves of her teeth as she breathes. She hisses as her boots crunch on the snow. “Is there an actual scenario in your head for this where I say no?”-OrThe one where Amy instigates a road trip and things get said.





	Hidden Treasure

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello i was right to say i loved Amy.

* * *

They're all addressed to Frank in the way of _Karen Page_ but the postcards are always mailed to the _Nelson's Meats_ front door. It's the address listed on the attorney’s website. It's probably the only address she could pull for Karen from Google.

Karen wishes Amy knew he didn't always get them. At least, not _on time_. Sometimes she bundles them in a shoe box and ships them to where Lieberman would text he's spotted him resting last on traffic cameras. Other times she can be lucky - Frank's there, across from her in a dark booth and he's whispering a soft and watery _thanks Karen,_ over bitter black coffee.

She thinks Amy may have it figured out when the next one comes in - a vintage snapshot of some quirky dinosaur highway attraction - and the short message on the back doesn't begin with _F-_ , but _K-_.

_I found treasure!_

_Finishing my last diving certification in two weeks._

_Sending love. - A_

“What's that look for?” Foggy asks her. He's leaning on his desk with his head tilted towards her, a stack of files trapped in his hand. Her fingers spin the cardstock slowly and all she can do is stare back at him from below her lashes. She doesn't know what the look is. “Everything okay?”

Karen nods, glancing down at the fancy swoop Amy put on the _K_ , the tiny little scribbled-in heart at the bottom in blue ink. She sets it down amongst the most recent research she's working on and wonders why she's getting her own postcard this time. Wonders why she's no longer just a messenger.

She didn't mind it much when the first one came a few months ago, a watercolor scene sprinkled with manatees - Frank had still been lying low at the time in an old trailer in a lot he told her was Curtis’. _You've got mail,_ she had texted. There was no assurance he'd kept the same burner until he had been at her door later that night.

 _Her name is Amy, all right?_ he had muttered, and thumbed the edge of the postcard enough to soften it as he stood in her living room. _I'm sorry I couldn't tell you then._ Frank's eyes lifted and spotted her nod, his mouth then a slight quirk as he told her that _she's a good kid._

So she collects the postcards and she collects the words and she collects herself and she avoids the way Foggy keeps looking at her by opening her laptop.

 

-

 

It's tucked beneath a NM&P business magnet on the fridge back home when she remembers it a few days later at closing time. Theo chucks a small square package at them on their way out for the night. “This was in with the kielbasa delivery.” Matt catches it with ease before resetting it in his hands. “Man,” he tells them with a laugh, reeling back from the door to the freezer, “that's still some freaky shit.”

“What is it?” Foggy asks, taking it from Matt to read the to/from sticker.

“Smells like sand,” Matt says quietly as Foggy then passes it to Karen. _For you,_ he tells her. The return address is a diving school just outside of Tampa. “Why's it coming to the butcher shop?”

She knows why, just not _why_. She's not going to give that up, though, Matt's annoying heartbeat reading be damned. “Private investigator, remember?” Karen waves a carefree hand in the air. “Maybe they knew it wouldn't fit in the P.O. box.”

Later in the dim light on her kitchen counter she takes a knife to the seal on the package. Inside are packing peanuts, a scrap of paper with a Tampa address, a hinged glass trinket jar half-full with sand and two entry tickets to a Florida science museum exhibit on local salvage happening soon. On the jar is a taped note, folded in half. _Visit me._ Karen regards the _F_ and _K_ written in the corners of the tickets before she sets them down with a sigh on her table top.  

 _Why?_ she wants to ask. She'd only met Amy once before and that had been in the midst of panic and escape in Frank's hospital room. Her postcards to Frank were always short and to the point. Plus they didn't have much more of a chance to talk after -

Karen turns the glass one way, then another. A tiny, pale blue starfish peeks out from beneath the shifted sand. There are a few shells inside too. When she turns it again something clinks against the glass and reveals itself from the white sand to be some kind of flaking coral, its inside exposing a sparkle not unlike the black of a night sky.

 

-

 

“I have mail,” she tells him the next morning. She's hiding in the car before she goes inside the butcher shop’s backroom. She's hiding from exposure. She's hiding from the absolute sure look of disappointment on Matt's face if her heartbeat is listened to.

Karen didn't expect him to pick up so early - if at all. She had been preparing herself to leave a fumbling voicemail and let it be for now. _You need my new address?_ Frank grumbles back tiredly. If she closes her eyes she can see him wiping his to get rid of the crust in the corners. The clock in the car reads _8:30_ and Karen wonders briefly if he's lying in a different time zone.

“Uh,” she tries, thinking _yes,_ but saying, “no no, not yet, she sent some things to me. For _me_ , actually.” The sound in her ear now is of sheets moving, a soft crack of joints in the silence, a small grunt in protest. Her right hand grasps the steaming to-go cup of coffee from its spot in the center console and she takes a sip before she feels the need to be guilty for waking him. There's a moment where she needs to swallow or she feels she'll choke on her burning tongue. “For the both of us.” 

Frank chuckles. It's a soft, light noise through the gruffness in his throat. She has to hold her breath against the sound. His hand scratches near the speaker and she can imagine the early morning stubble there on his cheek. _Yeah?_

He's moved out from bed now. Karen can hear water rushing from the tap, a clattering of spoons in a drawer. “Yeah,” she says. It's just as quiet as his was. But then - “Where are you?” It's out of her mouth and a little confrontational before Karen even realizes, and when she does, she covers it quickly, “she wants us to visit.” The details about the museum tickets follow after, how it would be in a few days.

He's breathing deeply into the phone. It makes that awful wind blowing sound she's always hated a few times before it's quiet again and she can tell he's taken the phone away from his ear, _this kid._

The gurgling of the coffeemaker echoes in her ear and she listens to the silence Frank gives her for a second as he continues to move around on his end. A mug is firmly placed on a counter. _Wh'time is it where you are?_ he asks her then. Frank’s voice doesn’t betray anything beyond the realm of sleep, and Karen grinds her teeth together when he slurps his brew in her ear.

“Almost 9.” From the corner of her eye she can spot Foggy arriving in the employee lot. He waves as he pulls in beside her, and she turns and smiles at him, waves back - _one minute,_ she mimes with a finger - and shuts the heat off in the car to hear Frank hum in recognition. The change of sound nearly brings a ringing to her ears.

 _Do you want to go?_ It's quiet, and it's his tone - not the cold outside her window - that chills her spine.

Karen rolls her eyes instead of thinking too hard on it, tries to focus on something - anything - outside her window. There's a flutter quick in the tree on the other end of the lot fence and she stares long enough at it that the window starts to fog up from her breath. She watches snow unsettle from a branch, a chickadee revealing itself as it dances foot to foot.

“Can I ask you something?” She doesn't wait for him to respond, and she's opening the door now, ice brushing into the nerves of her teeth as she breathes. She hisses as her boots crunch on the snow. “Is there an actual scenario in your head for this where I say no?”

 _I'll be there tomorrow_ , he counters back. _Pack a bag, I can drive us_.

 

-

 

Frank picks her up at the train station after she gets the idea to ride 6 stops away from the office with a duffel on her back. Her hand grips Amy's last postcard tightly as she reaches for him, pulling him into her, wrapping her arms across his shoulders. They stand on the sidewalk and she can hear him breathe in her ear, his chin hair scratching on her cheek. “Hey,” he manages to say. He takes the bag off her shoulder when she lets go and tosses it onto the floor of the backseat, shutting the door behind him. When he rounds the back of the truck to get inside Karen takes a moment and breathes, then climbs in the cabin of his new truck.

She can see the way his eyes track her as he turns the key, his bottom lip disappearing beneath his teeth, like he's hesitating to say something, so she does it for him. They've got places to be.

She had snagged a _Bulletin_ and a map of the area from the customer service counter on her way out of the tunnel and starts to pull it open in her lap. “If we take 95 all the way down we're at risk of hitting the cameras for tolls,” her finger traces the route down before it cuts off into the edge and she pokes at her thigh. “We can go out,” her trace restarts and moves away from the island, towards Pennsylvania. “Make it down most of the way through the mountains.”

Karen takes a peek at him then, a bend in her eyebrow to see if he's got a better idea. His body is turned towards her in the corner of his bucket seat and the hood of his sweatshirt is tucked against his neck. His left hand cradles the steering wheel, mouth set inquisitively and his dark eyes still staring at her. In his right he bounces Amy's roadside dinosaur postcard - _tap tap -_ against the center console. The dark purple bruises on his knuckles paint a picture for what he's been up to since seeing him last. She watches Frank's head bob down to his chest for a second, and admires the way the shadow in the turn of his mouth is from a mid afternoon stubble and not another bruise. “Okay,” he agrees.

Frank shifts in his seat as Karen folds up the small Manhattan area map and he turns into traffic.

They will take 78 to start until they reach 81. He lets her fiddle with the radio and adjust the seat settings. Karen has to close her eyes at the overwhelmed feeling soaking into her chest when she sees him glance in her direction a few times. His eyes lower to his lap before they focus back on the road.

 

-81-

 

“Stay by the truck,” she tells him when they stop for gas in Maryland. _Jesus Christ,_ he whispers. Karen hops out and bounces when she touches the pavement, wrapping her winter coat around her tight and checking the number on the console. “Want anything?”

“Yeah,” Frank shouts when she slams the door. “Hey!” She can see him fishing in his coat pocket as she makes her way around to his window. He hits the automatic button on the door and his eyes scan the parking lot, hands her three twenties as the tinted glass _whirrs_ out of view. “If they got any peanut m&ms, grab me those too?”

It's almost midnight but the gas station coffee was only brewed ten minutes before. Karen pours two cups and adds her cream and sugar. She throws a couple waters onto the countertop, a few different bags of chips, and finds Frank's request by her knees on the shelf. With one last scan she nabs a monster-sized slim jim from the promo rack. “Rest of this on number 3,” she tells the girl behind the counter, sliding the bills her way.

Karen had told the guys earlier that day she'd be taking an extended weekend and getting out of the city. She wasn't exactly sure when they'd be coming back but Foggy still narrowed his eyes and pursed his mouth at her when he asked _Everything okay? Is this about the Florida postcards?_

“Kind of?” Karen said. Matt had taken pause as she shrugged, and she was confident he couldn't tell what she was admitting to because she wasn't sure herself. What was Amy really asking? “It's just a couple of days. I'll be sure to be back in time for that meeting with the Gnucci runner witness next week.”

 _Do you need Foggy to take you to the airport?_ With the shake of her head and a mention that she's not flying, he had gripped the edge of the desk across the room a little too tight while leaning back and his knuckles turned pale. _You're driving?_ She nodded with a hum, looking down at her own paperwork piling up. _Alone?_

She could stop the worry bruise of her lip then, but the way her heart felt like a hammer against her chest was a bit harder. “No.”

His mouth parted as he huffed, jutting his chin up before turning away. _So what's in Florida?_

She closed her eyes and ground her teeth and she knew that he knew she was irritated with the questioning, but she kept her voice light. Amy was not hers to explain. “Sand.”

He must have seen her pay because Frank is already leaning on the truck with the pump in position when she comes back outside. “I can drive for a couple more hours,” he says when she hands him the black coffee. “You know, I'm... I'm good for it.” They share a pensive look before he runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “You should sleep, we can stop for something to eat in the morning and then switch off.”

He has a blanket tucked beneath the back of the seat and gives it to her when he starts the truck up again. She drinks her coffee for a little while before it sits forgotten in the cup holder. Foggy had offered to let her borrow his travel pillow, which she was grateful for when letting the seat lie back and bringing the headrest down isn't enough.

Karen reaches to the plastic bag of junk food on the floor and rips the candy open when they're back on the highway. It rattles loud enough that Frank looks, his hand outstretched, before chuckling as she pops one, two into her mouth. A feeling of warmth climbs up her spine at the sound and her mouth turns up in a smile, handing the candy over. The blanket she tugs tightly around her then, settling down on the seat, and her nose ducks into the fleece gripped in her fist.

His scent is everywhere. Karen closes her eyes in the dark of the cabin to stop glancing at his profile, the way his jaw clenches when he palms another m&m and chews. She's breathing in the smell of his laundry detergent and a bit of sweat and she has an image of him in her mind, tired and bruised beneath the fluorescent lighting of a laundromat, calmly sorting through the different shades of black he's got in his own duffel bag.

It brings up another thought, though. “Where were you yesterday?” She turns on her hip to face him, the side of her left knee touching the center console that separates them. It's warm, the heat set on high for her benefit. Her eyes are still closed but she can hear his face turn, the soft sound of skin against fabric.

“Maine,” he tells her. His thumbnail scratches at the steering wheel. “Had a lead on some Brooklyn pedo ring tracking kids down.” At this, Karen frowns, sighing to herself, her eyes opening to see him looking back, the shadows on his face hard in the highway lamplight. “Found an abandoned cabin to stay in.” She feels her gut drop, knowing where this could go. His eyes trail over her again, huffing to himself before rolling his head back towards the road. “Wasn't much to find though, the intel I had was bad, I guess.”

“What's the name?”

“Ahh,” he groans. “That maggot, Turk, didn't have it. Man used to traffick more than he should have.”

Matt and Foggy's upcoming trial with the Gnucci runner witness-turned-informant is chock full of kidnapping and trafficking details that Karen has managed to gather offsite after he's admitted to being their drop guy. Turk’s news is old news since he started paying taxes. _She's_ got the name. She has her own files at the office, a drawer full of pictures, the drop times and places -

She sighs, rolling her eyes heavily enough she closes them again, knowing what he'll say but still trying. “Use all your resources,” she tells him quietly. “Let me help you.”

“Not in my bullshit, Karen,” he shakes his head slowly, a soft grunt in disapproval. “Please.”

She adjusts her neck pillow, fingers tight and twitchy, and stubbornly hikes the blanket up to her neck. “I'm already in it,” she grinds out in a whisper. “Goddamnit, Frank.” Sleep is as good enough an excuse as any at this point, so Karen ignores the way his trigger finger dances nervously on the top of his coffee cup between them. Serves him right, she thinks. It was all she had to not turn away from him and face the window. “Wake me if you get far enough to see signs for Pulaski. We turn at 77.”

 

-81-

 

At some point during sleep she had reached out and grabbed at the crook of his sleeve, nails gripping the soft material. Her knuckles feel stiff as she starts to wake and pull away, and both of her knees have folded up onto the seat, halfway out from under the blanket. Karen inhales, shuttering and deep, and flexes her fingers.

They were stopped at a rest area. Frank had backed the truck into a spot in the corner to the wooded area, tucked behind a few tractor trailers and parallel to the picnic area. _Constant vigilance_.

He is asleep, though. His seat is yanked back just enough so his head isn't lined up with the window - and he's turned towards her. She may have gripped his arm tightly but that same arm had extended across the console, had his fingers tucked between calf and thigh of an exposed leg. The other is resting across it to hold her wrist. Frank's thumb rubs unconsciously at her pulse.

Karen manages to extract herself from his grip and reaches for her bag in the backseat to grab a change of clothes and her toothbrush. His right hand is still warm, pressing into the meat of her calf when his eyes open so gently she nearly misses them move. Frank's chest rises as he inhales, and she watches as he closes his eyes again after their gazes meet, exhaling.

When she wiggles his hand off and climbs out of the cabin and touches pavement, she has to stretch to get rid of the aches. In the pinking distance she sees the rest of the truck stop, a row of empty parking spots and a gray brick building, a glow emanating from the entryway. God, she has to pee.

Hiking the duffel over her shoulder, she breaks into a slow jog and heads down the hill. A damp _‘Visit Virginia_ ’ brochure lies on the ground, just shy of the trash bin. The cold air of predawn mixes with the wooden side panels of vending machines and it all gives off a vibe so familiar of being back home Karen nearly trips as she reaches the women's bathroom.

“Hey,” she calls to him later on the bench outside. Frank's back is to the entrance but his face turns to watch her. It's a flat bench, so she sits next to him on the opposing side, and drops her duffel onto the ground. Her shoulder touches his only for a moment but he still leans into her. “My turn,” she says, her hand out for the keys.

 

-81-

Virginia

 

They cover breakfast as the morning arrives in a small town off the highway.

“Not for nothing, and don't get me wrong here, Frank, I love a good mission road trip as much as the next girl, but I read those postcards,” Karen starts over a plate of french toast and scrambled eggs. She figures Foggy has read them too, when he got the mail, but he didn't say much about them beyond offhand comments on the artwork. “Why am I the one she wanted to come with you? Why did I get my own postcard? Why not Curtis?”

Curtis, who she's only met once before, tired and bloody and bruised after the Lewis Wilson bombings and Ellison wanted the exclusive. Who seemed to know Amy - _didn't I tell you to stay with Curtis?_ \- before she was using bobby pins in a hospital room to unlock handcuffs. Curtis, who she assumed was the _C_ she would inquire about in some of her updates.

Frank's fork is hitting the plate hard as he looks up at her, a small and lighthearted scoff spilling through his teeth. He chews on his runny eggs before squinting softly, as if deciding what to tell her. “The kid knows too much.”

Amy wrote in code sometimes - little snippets of nonsense here and there as she explained how _good_ diving school was going, how the food in Florida has been _utter swamp shit_. There hadn't been many long winded discussion topics on such small cardstock but her terms and abbreviations to some words left her a bit lost. Her _sending love_ comment had resulted in giving her beach sand for Christ’s sake.

He goes on after he pours another cup of coffee from the carafe at the edge of the table. “She knew if she got _you_ in, she had me too.”

“So she used me,” Karen accuses quickly. She can feel the way her blush creeps up her chest with embarrassment, and she's thankful she's changed into a baggy wool sweater because it hides it better. Frank bites into crisp bacon and she watches as his lip turns up when he looks at her, eyes hooded as they trail over her cheek.

“Nah,” he says, and when she drops her shoulders and squints back his way with irritation he waves her off. “I mean, yeah, but she’s got me just as good.” She sips her coffee and waits for an explanation. He's looking around the near-empty diner before he speaks low, a finger jamming into the faded blue table. “You said it yourself, you read those letters. She reads the news, yeah? She can deduce when I'm doing what I'm doing.”

“Yeah.”

Frank leans back in the booth and takes his mug with him, sighing. “So she's smart, you know, and she's got a big mouth.” His tongue darts out to lick the edge of his lips after swallowing a gulp of coffee, and it's a quick second before she looks away from them. “She’s got eyes, Karen. She saw us in that hospital.”

This is a trip for them as much as it is for Amy.

The memory of his hand stroking hers is strong as she watches it now slowly caress the linoleum, and then - he's reaching towards her and he's so so close, his breath shaky as she stilled his sway, a hand gripping her blouse to tug her closer, to keep _her_ still, then the door, her habit of rabbiting away first -

“Yeah,” she repeats softly.

 

-77-

 

It's a quick ride to 77, and the sharp turn she takes the truck in to make it causes her purse by Frank's feet to fall over onto its side. The glass jar fumbles out and knocks into the steel toe of his boot and he reaches down to pick it up. “This is what she sent you?”

Karen turns her head away from the road to get a good look at the way his hands turn it from bottom to hinge top. The assorted shells inside clatter against the side, and an edge to the dark coral peeks away from the sand.

“Yeah, it's cute.”

He's quiet for a moment, continuing his inspection, juggling it from hand to hand. At one point he brings it closer to eye level and shakes his head, scoffing to himself. “There's even a shark tooth in there,” he tells her. It rattles and Karen looks again to see a blackened triangle flush to the corner. “ _This kid_.”

“I must have missed that,” she says. She waves her hand between them to say _let me see_ , because she’s never actually seen a real one up close, but he tucks it against the windshield in front of him, out of reach.  

“Watch the road,” he says quietly, pointing. Frank slouches back in the seat and covers his mouth with his palm as he stretches a leg forward. His head shakes. The sunlight hits the jar just enough to illuminate the dashboard, and he sighs. Karen doesn't watch the road - it's a long stretch of bright highway and there's enough space between cars driving early to work to stare at him. Their eyes meet for a second and his hand moves away like something is incredible, gaze dropping and mouth moving silently before he settles on a frown.

She juts out her chin at him in concern. “What? What just happened?”

“She's meddlin’,” he grunts.

Karen's eyebrows raise high before she can comprehend the noise that leaves her throat. “With the _sand_?”

He snatches up the jar again and holds it in both hands, shaking it enough to reveal the blue starfish, and a shell. “She gave you a message.”

“She said she was _sending love_ ,” her voice hard with disbelief. “It was a weird thing to say to me, I admit that, I barely know her. But then I got that,” she points, “so I just thought it was a gift, right? A local grab or something.” Her eyes narrow as she maneuvers the truck around a slow Camry in the right lane. It's freaking sand. If Amy were in Vermont she probably would have sent two different grades of maple syrup. “ _I_ _'m_ the PI here, what are you not telling me?”

“She's got this thing about symbols, the meaning behind things,” Frank starts, setting the jar back in the open pocket of her purse with a glance her way. “We were in Ohio, just before I came back, you know? She told one of the officers when we got arrested about this horseshoe above the door, how all the luck would fall out because it was upside down.”

“That's not… that's a superstition,” she shakes her head, smiling. Her chest vibrates as she laughs. It takes her a second to focus on where she is in the world when it hits her that she's giggling so freely at Frank for the first time in a long while. “I think you're reading into this too hard.”

“Ahh,” he groans softly, leaning back to spread out as much as he can from the corner, the fight in him gone. “You watch,” he says, and Karen can see the way his eyes follow her. His left hand is resting palm-up on the center console, fingers gently dancing over the green of her sleeve. “She's gonna have that look on her face like she told you some big secret.”

Karen drives with her knee - her left hand low on the steering wheel - and gives him her right without hesitation. He squeezes.

 

-26-

 

The stop at the gas station later allows her to clear out their trash from the last stop and stretch her legs again. Frank had fallen asleep holding her hand and only stirs when the driver door slams shut. Her window is open, though, and she can see him check his surroundings with a few abrupt turns of his head.

“We're in South Carolina,” she tells him calmly. He grunts and wipes at his face, nodding. “Just made it through Columbia, which was -” she pulls the pump out when it clicks to indicate the tank is full, “- a fucking nightmare.”

Her phone vibrates in her pocket to indicate she has a text.

_Foggy;_

_making sure youre not dead in a ditch_

Karen hits the call button as she snorts and rolls her eyes, and it rings twice before he picks up, _hi_. “Hey Fog,” she says, immediately hearing the muffled lunchtime activity of the butcher shop in the background. “We're alive, just stopped for gas.”

Frank hops out and begins to walk towards the convenience store. “Be right back.”

“Hood,” she shouts at him, making a motion at her neck, the phone frantically waving in her hand, “your hood.” They may be well out of New York but her paranoia and desire to protect him is still rampant. He mutters an agreement and tosses it over his ears, keeping it low and disappearing inside.

_Almost there?_

“Few more hours until the Florida border, at least.” There's no one around at the other pumps but she gets behind the wheel anyway and moves the truck into a parking spot away from the door to the shop. She puts them on speaker, setting the phone on the dashboard. “Probably get there when the sun goes down, I'll call you when we do.”

 _Traffic could be bad if you cross down 4_ , Matt says from the background, and she smiles at his soft and easy tone. It's an apology, she thinks. She’ll take it. _All those, those long-weekend DisneyWorld families._ His voice is full of chuckles.

“Good to know. I'll talk to him, see what he wants to do,” Karen leans back in the seat and taps out a beat with her knuckle on the steering wheel. “Anything I can do for you guys while I'm out?”

Foggy laughs and Frank comes back, opening the passenger door with a plastic bag of snacks in one hand and a tower of two coffees in the other. He's thrusting it her way and she puts them in the cup holders as he settles in the chair. _Ooh, souvenirs? Maybe some mugs?_

 _T-shirt is fine_ , Matt says. _One of those weird, punny beach slogans._ _Love those._ At this Frank chuckles, shaking his head.

Karen's mouth lifts as she turns against the headrest to look at him, the _Nelson and Murdock_ end of the line now absolutely silent beyond the ministrations of the butcher shop. “I'll see what I can find,” she laughs into the quiet.

 

-95-

 

They're about to take the turn to merge onto 95 when Frank reaches over yesterday's _Bulletin_ in his hands and lowers the volume of the altrock station on the radio.

“Why'd you quit the paper?”

She thinks of Mitchell Ellison lying in bed in his hospital gown all those months back. _Look, three people died,_ she had told him. By the end of the week it would have been five, from the injuries.

The scent of an escaped criminal's blood had still been in her nose when she stood in front of him as he warily had asked her, _Karen, do you know who Daredevil is?_

“I uh… I didn't, I got fired.” She glances at him quickly before hitting the blinker to move into traffic. “When the newspaper got hit, my boss, he fired me for not telling him who Daredevil was.”

“You uh, you know who he is?” Frank's face turns, eyes searching hers. His fingers interlock and he leans forward in his seat.

She scoffs, head rolling slightly at his ploy. “Oh shut _up,_ Frank.” She points a finger blindly in his direction when she looks out the window to keep moving left, picking up speed again in the middle lane. “You knew before I did, Matt told me as much.”

For a moment, he shakes his head with a laugh. For a moment, Karen forgets the way she felt that night, angry for not being trusted with her friend’s secret sooner. For a moment.

Then his face is sobering into a calculated stare just as fast. She can see the way he changes, alert, alarmed, the vein in his neck pushing prominently against his skin, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean it was ‘ _hit’_? What happened?”

“It was months ago _._ Wilson Fisk is already back in prison.” Her grip on the steering wheel tightens.

 _“Back_ in prison?” His shoulders turn sharply as he takes a good look at her. “Karen -”

“We went after him,” she says quickly. “We were going to expose him to the FBI, and then he, he came after me. He had a guy dress up as Daredevil to discredit Matt. He attacked the office. I had to get him to -”

“No, _no_ you didn't, hey, hold on -”

She looks at him as he tries to form new words, and then back to the road. She shakes her head, a shiver racing down her spine. She's done this twice now, with Matt and Foggy, she can tell him, she's overdue for it. She thinks it's getting easier to say the words each time, and that scares her. “I confronted him in his penthouse after, to get him to admit… so I told him I... I killed his best friend. The guy had kidnapped me, threatened everyone I cared about, right? And… and the gun was on the table.” Her breathing is shallow as she glances his way again, but she keeps going. “I put seven bullets in him.”

“Then he's dead, Karen,” he says with finality. With so much assurance, eyes wide and mouth a flat line - no bullshit. Just like that, _decision made._ She knows he would do it. “Yeah? This is _Fisk_ you’re -”

Her hand smacks the wheel a few times and she's baring her teeth. He wouldn't be able to implicate her so easily without exposing more of his own dirty laundry, and his prison sentence is her current reward. “ _No_ , I have to believe that he'll -”

“Ahh,” he groans loudly over her. “Why don’t I know this already, huh? Why didn't you call me?”

“Are you fucking kidding me, oh my god, Frank,” she yells back, feeling like she's losing her breath. “No, you were _out of there_ , you were living your life, okay, you had that chance. You deserved it. That, with Fisk, it wasn't your fight.”

“Jesus Christ, Karen. How do you not _get_ -”

“I've had my own shit to deal with too, all right,” she bites her lip for a second, trying to get herself together. The highway is blurry through her panicked tears. “I was gonna get out of there, and I took responsibility, I didn't want to drag you or anyone else down into the bullshit with me at the time, then, either. I couldn't risk anyone -”

“Pull over,” he's pointing out the window.

“- getting hurt _because_ of me, right? I fucking _get it_ , Frank. I do -”

“ _Get over there,_ ” he grunts.

“- I learned from that though, I had help, and if you don't want to do the same -”

“Pull the fuck over, Karen, _goddamnit.”_

“- with me, then so be it.”

“Stop the car.”

Karen has been slowly moving over to the right since the windshield turned into a watercolor painting, and she gasps to herself when she is able to switch gears and park in the breakdown lane. Frank leans over and pulls the keys from the ignition, dropping them into his lap and grasping his chin, sighing heavily.

“So that's um…” She laughs, shaking her head. Went way off topic there, she has to admit. “That's why I don't work at the _Bulletin_ anymore,” she whispers then, using a sleeve to wipe her eyes. “Sorry.”

“Stop that,” he mutters at her apology. Karen keeps her fingers tight in fists on her lap. They're both quiet for a while and she tries to breathe normally until he moves again. The keyring jingles in his palm as he picks it up then, and she watches as he looks around the highway for a moment before opening the door. His trigger finger twitches momentarily before he grips the handle. “Slide over,” he motions to her with a wave as he jumps out. “You parked too close to the road, I'll drive.”

She gets a leg over the center console as Frank shuts the door with a nod. He's already making the turn around the back end of the truck when she wonders if he's even registered anything about what she told him or if he just wanted to stop her freak out. In the angle the driver side mirror gives her she can see him pause and lean his back against the edge of the pickup bed cover, his head turned away and towards oncoming traffic - a hand sliding down his face and then once more through his hair.

The seat buckle clicks into place when the driver door opens and he hauls himself inside.

He's staring at her as he turns the key, eyes squinting with a line of thought that lives on his face. It's watery and full of exhaustion but she feels relieved when she speaks up. “What?”

“Seven bullets, huh?”

She thinks of Matt and Foggy, Ben and Ellison, and her father back in Vermont, feeling rotten about how it was such a lucky take at the time that her circle had been _so_ small against Wesley's threat until the gun was in her hands - and nods her head once, breathing out from her mouth. A bark of a laugh tickles her throat. “The clip ran out.” _He deserved more._

Frank adjusts the rearview mirror and his head bobs side to side. His jaw is clenched for a second, exhaling heavy. “God. _Damn_ , Karen.” He gets them back into the lane.

 

-95-

Georgia

 

It's been almost three hours down the road. Karen has curled up into the chair and wished she had packed an actual book to read but she's got a handful of state vacation brochures he must have grabbed at some point, instead. There's a section on the history of limestone caves in Virginia that she's brushing lemon cookie crumbs off of when Frank places a warm palm to the flat of her bent knee. His thumb caresses the indented button on the front. It sends a tingle in her nerves and shoots up the middle of her leg to her hip and she has to inhale deeply to avoid wiggling into the sensation. He doesn't make it known if he's caught her or not. She'll take what he gives her on this trip and hopes he'll allow himself the same selfishness, but _goddamnit_.

“Does Amy have any actual clue that we're coming, or is she on the assumption we'd just show up?” Karen needs to talk or she's going to impulsively climb over the center console, and she hasn't been able to do that since she was a teenager with pliable knees.

“No, but I don't think she'll be figuring either,” he mutters. “We won't make it in time to see her at the diving school.” He makes a nod towards the clock radio, and two of his fingers on her leg scratch at the denim distractedly.

“So then we’ll just kidnap her and take her to a diner for a late dinner,” she shrugs, now able to smile a bit easy at the memory. His knuckles were bruised to shit, then, too. It's here that she hooks her fingers with his and brings them down on her thigh, rubbing them gently.

Frank's throat bobs and his eyes follow his arm to their hands and then her face. “Maybe not the kidnapping part,” he tells her softly. His focus darts from their hands to the road a few times and his breathing is shallow. “Kid would hate me if I did something like that again.”

“Nah, she’d still love you,” Karen shakes her head. Amy's conviction in that hospital room, the assurance of needing to get him away from the danger, the panic in her voice, and worry in her shaking hands - _Will you two just please help me get him out_. “I'm sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she echoes. “Yeah, Frank, I mean,” her right hand flails as her elbow rests on the edge of the window and it rakes through her hair as she looks over at him, slightly flustered. _Get it through your head_. She squeezes his hand. “The girl sends you, like, a weekly update about meeting manatees and dolphins, how her recent rollercoaster ride was, and what beaches are the best to find whole and unbroken seashells at. She cares. You're not gonna scare her off so easily.”

Frank is quiet for a long time before he huffs, breathing deeply. His thumb traps her pinky to hold and he brings her hand to his mouth, a trembling kiss to a knuckle _once, twice_. Karen notes that he doesn't look her way but on the road while he rests his lips against her skin. Her arm is stretched slightly until he sets their clasped hands against his hoodie and her elbow can touch the console. The late afternoon sun feels warm on his shoulder.

“What was that for?”

“You know what it's for.”

“Tell me anyway,” she begs quietly. “If it means anything.”

“You _know_ this isn’t a matter of _if_ , Karen. You have to know that. It just is.” Frank rolls his head to look at her, and Karen feels the hair on the back of her neck stand up with the way his eyes meet hers. She bruises her lip as she slips her fingers from his grasp, trying to _inhale, exhale, repeat._ “God,” he chuckles to himself, his grip on the steering wheel loose and bouncing lightly. He moves them into a new lane and she can spot the _Welcome to Florida_ sign in the distance. “Karen, you scare the shit outta me.”

She knows. She knows because it's what she thinks about him when he presses his lips so softly to her cheek as he's desperately telling her _please._ When he's hauling himself bloody and broken through an elevator shaft after telling her to _take care._ When he's chained to a hospital bed covered in sutures and broken ribs telling her to go and _walk away._

 _You are so goddamn stubborn_.

 

-95-

Florida

 

They stop at a welcome center shortly after hitting the border.

She takes a walk around the concrete to stretch her legs and see what the vending machines have to offer before she tries inside the center. There are a scatter of large painted dolphin sculptures advertising local businesses and maps to beaches lining the parking lot and she is suddenly reminded of one of Amy's earlier postcards, an image of Tampa’s aquatic street art.

When Karen exits the welcome center lobby she spots Frank leaning on a dolphin sculpture nearest the truck. His eyes track her. He's clean shaven now, and the corner of his mouth lifts with a smile at her like he’s got a secret. His hands look like they don't know where to settle when he fumbles briefly in finding the pocket of his hoodie.

In her letter, Amy had spoken of being nervous to see new things now that she was away from the familiar. Of how the gulf waters could sweep you under if you hadn't tethered down tightly enough. Of how she was excited regardless of the risk to see what the oceans would uncover to her.

She sees a bit of that for her in Frank. “Hey,” she says when she gets close. Her nerves build tight in her chest. He straightens slightly against the statue and his head ducks to follow her hand, which lifts to rest on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he echoes softly. As Karen settles an intent look on his clean cheek, her hand brushes across his jaw and feels him lean into the touch. Everything seems heightened then - she can hear how loud the gravel turns beneath her feet when she steps into his legs. Frank's gaze drops languidly to her lips, her eyes, and back again. The aftershave he used minutes before engulfs her nose, and she can feel where his hand slips from the front pocket of his hoodie onto her hip. It burns where it lingers, trapping a belt loop in his grasp. The fingers still on his shirt close into a fist.

Frank leans in and shuts his eyes, his forehead touching hers. When his nose nuzzles against hers and she can hear him exhale, Karen feels like she could -

His left hand climbs and traces her waist, the curve of her breast, her shoulder, to rest his thumb on her chin. His palm feels hot on her neck and his fingers disappear into her hair, tangling at the base of her skull. It's then that his mouth finds hers - delicate and soft and overwhelming. Frank inhales deeply and brings her in closer, petting at her jaw with his thumb when Karen deepens the kiss moments later. The hand on her hip grips her tight, finding purchase under her sweater upon her skin, and she smiles against him when she can feel him start to lead them into a sway. “Goddamn,” he whispers incredulously into her mouth. His teeth nip at her lower lip and she can taste the mint of his toothpaste on his tongue.

Karen rakes her nails in a trail down the back of his head and feels a laugh build in his chest before she hears it. Frank holds her face with both hands and keeps her still as he kisses her again long and slow _once, twice_.

As they pull apart she can see him take her in, rubbing a thumb across her cheekbone. “Hey,” she repeats, trying to steady her heartbeat. The hand left on his shoulder grips and releases his shirt a few times before it drops to her side. He tugs lightly on a windswept lock of her hair before guiding it back into place behind her ear and breathing deep. “I just,” Karen tries not to smile too wide as she laughs, her legs feeling heavy, the rush of it all making her head spin, “I just came over here to ask if you were ready to go.”

He scoffs, looking away from her and into the parking lot, his eyes squinting as he shakes his head. The furrow of his brow flips something in her chest. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, Frank,” she bluffs in a light tone, unhooking the keys from his belt loop. “Now, tell me which way you wanna go.” They had the option of a crossroad from here, metaphorical and physical, she thinks. As Karen starts to turn and walk towards the truck he grabs her wrist, tugging her back against him.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Karen,” he mutters, kissing her once more.

 

-4-

 

She's in the middle of taking her sweater off in the second half of stop-go-stop DisneyWorld traffic on 4 when her phone rings, a familiar shrill echo in her ears. In an instant Karen remembers she was supposed to check in with Foggy once they hit the Florida border.

The seatbelt strap across her chest locks in place when she blindly leans forward too fast on instinct to grab it. “ _Shit,_ get it, get it,” she nearly shouts at Frank, feeling guilty in forgetting. He fumbles for it as she finally gets the stuffy sweater off and she pulls her t-shirt back down beneath it. The humidity and heat has been growing even as the sun has set behind them and they've been driving with the windows down to enjoy it.

“Foggy, _shit_ , I forgot -” she starts, but his voice over the speakerphone interrupts.

_No biggie, you would have remembered eventually. Are you guys okay?_

“Yeah,” she eyes Frank, who is setting the phone on his end of the dashboard. He leans back and spreads out in his seat, his hand hanging outside the window. It gives off the sense of ease and she has to look away only to scoot ten feet forward on the highway. “What's up?”

_Kyle called, and he stopped by with more details on the latest drop, wanted to add that to your file. But I can't find it with the big Gnucci folder and if I leave it with Matt he's gonna lose it, did you move it?_

“Uh, no, that one should still be on my desk, that's its own case,” she says, trying to think of where else she could have stored it. It's not the type of file she'd risk bringing home. “If it's not on that crazy pile on the left there, it's _gotta_ be in the desk. Try the first drawer.”

There's a distinct clatter of pens against the tile and he mutters a _sorry_ into the microphone, and the all too familiar squeaky hinge of her right side desk drawer hits her ears. _I'll pick those up,_ he laughs.

On the road, they hit a clearing in traffic and move about half a mile before the next cluster of cars hit their brakes. “Did you find it?”

A shuffle of papers, the slam of the drawer - _Yeah,_ he is quiet for a moment, and Karen can tell he’s picking through the folder. _Jees, Kare,_ he whispers softly. _I hoped you had enough on this guy already._

Karen fidgets uncomfortably in her seat. She breathes deeply from her nose, knowing that he's seeing her ever-growing pile of pictures of sketchy handlers and money changing hands in action. The paperclipped collection of timestamps, of pickups, the drop offs and the plates of suspected vans that were being used to transport kids -

“What did Kyle bring by?”

 _He brought in a couple addresses, some new names._ Foggy sighs, and the squeak of the drawer is loud again, the _plop_ of heavy paper hitting paper. This is good, she thinks, because that means there's a ledger out there somewhere full of them, and she's a step closer to getting her hands on it. _You'd think a guy with a codename like ‘Uncle Teddy’ would already be on the police watchlist with the stuff you found._

While she moves the truck another twenty feet forward she can feel Frank turn his head sharply to look at her. His breath shakes deep and his hand out the window moves to hold his chin. Her right ear burns from the glance, feeling it creeping its way down her back. When she faces him, his eyes are dark against the glow of red brake lights surrounding them.  

“Nelson,” Frank speaks up, his voice grave and full of warning. “She's gonna call you back.”

 _Yup, yes, sir_ , he says quickly. _Love you Kare, drive safe._ Her phone lights up to indicate he's disconnected. She rolls her eyes.

“Can I tell you something, Frank?” Karen asks, irritated but at the same time, satisfied. The feelings from the night before begin to surface and he tilts his head to listen. His arm stretches in the space between them as if it's an invitation. “I have the name you've been looking for in Brooklyn.”

“Oh, do you?” He points at her phone then, voice dripping with sarcasm, “I couldn't help but overhear. God _. Damn it_ , Karen.”

“What, did you think I was going to let something like this slide?” They finally get by most of the standstill merging Disney traffic, and she's able to put her foot on the gas. “ _Y_ _ou_ clearly haven't, for whatever your reasons! The kid’s got information on the biggest shitstorm I've seen since I've -”

“No, no, _Christ_ , I never would have wanted you near something like this,” Frank rubs his face and stares up at the roof of the truck. “Do you know what those assholes could do to you, if they caught you? Do you know what I'm gonna do to them?”

“That asshole needs to slip up just _once,_ okay?” She jabs a finger into the center console. “ _Once,_  and I could have him locked up. But there is literally every single one of those guys just like him hiding behind him that I want put away, too.”

He's quiet beyond a brief huffing from his mouth, and he shakes his head. His eyes close.

“Ask me how long,” she challenges him simply, shaking her head. She owns a gun, damn it, she can take care of herself. “ _Jesus_ , Frank, and you went to _Turk_.” There's a hitch in her voice, laughter of disbelief in her throat as she makes their way across new traffic, rubberneckers checking out a rear end crash in the median grass. “Ask me how long I've been working this case.”

Their eyes meet and she shrugs in his silence, gripping the steering wheel. Frank's trigger finger rubs on the thigh of his jeans and she reaches across the center console and his lap to hold it still. He scoops it, turning it so his fingers interlock tight with hers, and stares. “Karen.” It's hushed, broken and desperate. “This guy, he's in charge of all that serious shit. The trafficking, you know, the pictures -”

She hums to herself in agreement, her hand in his shaky grasp as he tries to get the words to come out. She knows. She knows what she's doing could be dangerous but _those kids_.

“I can't…”

Karen breathes deeply and tries to focus on the road in front of them, but the sound of Frank stumbling to get his point across throws the knots around in her stomach. He can't risk her, he can't lose her, he can't go after these men and keep her safe _._ He mutters to himself in the dark before stopping to watch her, and his fingers stroke gently at her wrist.

She thinks she's just as much a nightmare for attracting bad shit as he is and figures she'll still go down swinging in a fight for her life if it meant she could feel the way he touches her skin for the rest of it.

She tells him as much.

 

-275-

 

They reach Amy's apartment complex around nine and she pulls the keys from the ignition. The hum of the engine quieting rings in her ears as the two of them hesitate to leave the cabin. They've spent a collective twenty-some odd hours together and Karen is full of pent up energy now that they’re here.

“Nervous?” She rubs her knuckles on her knees as she faces him and watches as he sets himself back in the seat to meet her eyes.

“Nah,” Frank says certainly, shaking his head for a moment. His hand rises and he tucks some of her hair behind her ear. It lingers by her cheek before his thumb trails to follow the line of her jaw. Karen shivers at the way his eyes seem to trace her face and the way he watches her hair move, smooth between his fingers as he lets his hand drop. “Not about the kid, no.”

Her arm lifts hesitantly, fingers unfurling off her lap and reaching in his direction. Frank laughs short and low when she lets her own thumb fall unceremoniously against his cheek, gliding it up and across the faded white scar above his ear. She wonders briefly if he'll always carry the reminder of that day. “What about, then?”

The hand still by her elbow tugs at her for a moment. “C'mere,” he whispers.

They meet each other in the middle. Karen feels his hand slide up again to grip the back of her head at the same time she loses hers in the cushy fleece hood bunched up around his neck. Frank catches her lip with his and kisses her slow with a gentle caress across her waist, his breath shuddering when her tongue briefly meets his.

A soft protesting groan vibrates in his throat when he pulls away to notice the blocky center console is in the way of tugging her even closer and she laughs. He leans back in to kiss her quiet.

The walk over to Amy's apartment is slow and Karen lets the humidity seep into her skin before she beats him up the outside stairs to knock on the door. Frank drops his head to his chest to laugh for a second as a squeal echoes from the parking lot moments after, a distinct shout of _you're here!_

They turn back to the edge of the stairs to see Amy crossing between cars, her hands full of grocery bags. “You actually _came_ , oh _my_ _gosh_.” She makes her way up to them and drops her bags to wrap her arms around Karen’s waist and squeeze. “You got my present, it worked,” the girl says quietly into the crook of her shoulder.

 _Oh,_ she breathes. Karen's arms instinctually wrap themselves low around her thin shoulders. “Yeah, hey, thanks -”

“Kid, hey,” Frank starts to say, but Amy moves from Karen’s arms over to his, her messy bun grazing his chin.

“I saw the New York plates, I knew that was you, _nice_ upgrade from the murder van, Castle.”

“Keep your voice down,” he grunts, wrapping his arms around her. Karen meets his eyes with a laugh. “Christ.”

 

-

 

“So you're gonna stay at my place, right?” Amy asks with a smile, chewing on a soggy waffle cone leftover from her dessert bowl. “You drove, so, I give you my futon.”

She had walked them over to a diner nearby for dinner after claiming she only had ramen noodles in the pantry and couldn't figure how to not burn anything but that. Karen could relate a little, trailing her thoughts back to the to-go containers of Thai food and pizza in her own fridge.

The two of them are sitting across from each other after Frank disappears down a hallway into the men's room.

Admittedly, they never discussed where they would stay once they got down here, only that Karen knew they would have to use cash to stay under the radar. “You'll have to ask him, I think,” she tells her, sweeping a fork over her veggie omelette before stabbing at a piece of broccoli.

Amy shakes her head and hunches forward in her side of the booth, points a spoon at Karen. She watches as melted cookie fudge ice cream splatters against the linoleum. “No, no, if _you_ say you wanna stay, he'll agree.”

She thinks back to the morning and the way Frank's eyes crinkled, _she's got eyes, Karen._ “Is that why I got the postcard this time?”

“Kinda?” Amy takes another scoop into her mouth and squints at her. “Mostly no. At first I wanted to know more on the person who'd willingly hold hands with a psycho killer and then _yell_ at him later,” she chuckles before motioning at the hash browns on Karen's plate. She pushes it forward to allow her to take what she wanted. “Oh my gosh,” Amy hums. Her face turns up with a smile as she chews and she wiggles in her seat.

“But then I read up on the _Bulletin_ archives online, right, on the bus drive here, and there were a bunch of stories where you were such a bad ay-es-es reporter? Made sense to me, then, about him. So I felt like I knew you already, even after I found that butcher shop address, your uh, the new office.” Karen listens and picks at her side dish of fruit as Amy continues to nibble on the fried potato on her plate. “When a bunch of us went over the bridge to the beach, Marcus found that really neat black coral and I called dibs so I could send it to you.” She sighs contentedly. “I can't wait for you to see my apartment. It's full of all the stuff I find when we dive.”

Amy's elbow is on her knee as she scoots into the corner of the booth and smiles a little at Karen, settling in. She notes that she bobs her head gently to the tinny early 2000's music feeding through the speakers overhead. “You look better,” Karen tells her softly. “Considering when we first -”

Frank appears and slides in next to her, a hand already aiming for the coffee cup in front of him. Amy and Karen exchange a humored look and he catches it in their sudden silence, the lines in his forehead furrowing. “What? What'd I miss?”

“We can stay with her,” Karen tells him low, pointing with her fork. His right arm leans on the lip of the booth and she can hear him take a gulp from the mug. “Do you want to?” It's quiet, and it's her tone - not the humidity outside the open window - that feels heavy.

She leans onto the table and rests her head in her hand, looking his way. His eyes are low and his lip turns up in one corner a couple of times. She can spot him taking a peek at her before he scoffs out a small laugh, licking at his lip. He looks utterly flustered and it makes her blush.

“Can I ask you something?” He doesn't wait for her to respond, and he's setting his mug down now, bending his right arm forward to gently rub his thumb on her shoulder. He glances - quick and amused - at Amy but lingers on the spot he's touching. “Is there an actual scenario in your head for this where I say no?”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Karen rolls her eyes, trying her hardest to not smile and failing, poking at him lightly. Frank laughs with his head facing his chest, teeth exposed.

Amy's finger wags at them, chuckling in her corner. “I missed something, but this is...”

It's easy, for now, she thinks. They will stay a few days with Amy. They will go to the museum. They’ll touch gulf waters. They’ll kiss. They'll argue later about each other's safety and protection and their limits. They'll love each other regardless.

“Kid, I gotta ask, okay, what was with the sand?”

Amy smiles slow with a Cheshire cat-like curl and says nothing.

“I told you,” he turns to her. “I said it, didn't I?”

“Frank!”

**Author's Note:**

> this was a whopper to write and i spent quite a few days freaking out about it all so while i usually keep quiet on replies to comments with my other ffics (i really don't like how it adds to the comment count? seems a bit weird) i am here to tell you that i'll be freaking out on this one. just a heads up haha.
> 
> when i moved to florida from new england i took the route they decided to take through the mountains because i drive a teeny car and honestly the NJ Turnpike is not one to fuck around on with a carload of bullshit, mkay? 
> 
> also the symbolism on the contents in the jar of sand only grew as i realized everything i chose for a freaking mention actually had something behind it. basically everything in the jar is a symbol for love and protection and emotional issues in families and relationships. so like, yeah that was a trip.
> 
> also i'm on tumblr! come say hi!


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